There’s the culprit. She took my blog post off the coffee table and ate it as she sat under this Leyland cypress. She had the runs for three days after – my writing is not easily digested.

The more alert among you may have noticed that I posted absolutely nothing when it was my turn the last time here at The Nudge Wink Report. I would’ve written, but I’ve stumbled onto something that’s bigger than mere humor bloggery.

It began innocently enough. As you may know, I’ve begun brewing beer in earnest, and blogging much less. The inherent risks of moving ten or eleven gallons of very hot, sugary wort without burning or breaking myself were becoming more and more clear. Not wishing to suffer a scalded hernia, I knew it was time to look into getting a pump. As a quick aside, my long-suffering wife has been a saint in tolerating…

Here I am again over at The Nudge Wink Report writing a blog post just like I used to do with some regularity over here. If you promise to come over and read it, I’ll do my best to post an actual original piece over here, on my own damn blog.

It can be a struggle being a curmudgeon, but sometimes they make it awfully easy for me. Take for example the “news” story I recently read which implied that there was some consideration for making gaming an Olympic sport. To clarify, the term “gaming” does not refer to the games which already award medals to the best players/teams in a given sport. Sports such as handball, synchronized swimming and curling are already well established Olympic fare.

This is a humor blog, and as such, I have a moral obligation to make at least one reference to this boob. (Image of actual Trump Tweet from the interwebs)

The gaming to which the article refers is the video form. In fairness, I should disclose that the “article” to which I am referring is barely more than click bait in its depth and quality. I scanned through two or three paragraphs worth. Someone from the gaming community was going to meet with someone…

Time again for another installment over at the Nudge Wink Report. For those of you keeping score, I put less creative energy into each one of these. Soon it’ll just be two or three paragraphs of incoherent drivel.

Some folks in Iowa recently named a rescued kitten “Firecracker” after veterinarians determined that the feline’s facial injuries had likely been caused by some sort of fireworks. In the interest of blog humor, I won’t get on a soapbox and rail against the sadistic nature of the cretins who perpetrate such acts upon innocent, sweet animals (or even cats for that matter).

Instead, I’d like to question the wisdom of christening a cat with such an awful name. If it was a feisty tabby with an explosive personality and the potential to tear digits to shreds, then a moniker like Firecracker might be an apt handle. Naming this little guy after the explosive that blew his whiskers off seems a bit cruel. On the plus side, since it’s a cat, the name doesn’t really matter as they only respond to the sound of electric…

There is a player on the Cavaliers who believes the earth is flat. His name is Kyrie Irving and he was born on the other side of what he must see as giant pizza box in a place called Australia. One might be inclined to imagine that anyone who thinks the earth is flat must have had a sub-par education. Kyrie went to a prestigious prep school in northern New Jersey, and later attended a place called Duke University. Either those two institutions are guilty of not providing their star athletes with the most basic of educations, or Kyrie chose to ignore the astronomy portion of his curriculum. Kyrie may be one of the only Duke alum who thinks the earth is flat, but he’s far from alone.

Perhaps Kyrie and the others only believe in things which they can see with their naked eyes. Despite the likelihood that he’s spent more time at thirty five thousand…

Subway is now portraying themselves as purveyors of natural, wholesome sammiches. The ad agency must be banking on the American public forgetting all about their clients having used a material commonly found in yoga mats in their bread. One can’t blame the ad agency, after all, they’re dealing with an American public which is generally thought to have the attention span of a caffeinated flea.

By the same token, I know people who haven’t been swimming in the ocean since seeing “Jaws” in 1976. They just can’t forget about it. If they dare to wade in past their ankles, they start hearing that music; “Duhhhh-Dumm…duhhh-dumm…DUMM DUMM DUMM!” Next…

It’s my turn over at The Nudge Wink Report again. This time I had enough fodder swirling around in my noggin to come up with a rambling mess of words. I can only pray that some of you find this junk amusing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go fortify my bunker and stock up on scotch and band aids.

I was once told by a very wise man, that I “thought too much”. Sadly, he didn’t stick around this earth long enough for me to let him know that he was onto something.

I’d love to say that I’ve managed to get my over-active brain under control, but that’s not happening. Despite all the magic elixirs the distillers of America, Scotland and Mexico can muster, I still have a tough time putting my gray matter into sleep mode. As if I didn’t have enough things to worry about with the world, I’ve been bombarded with an onslaught of political propaganda for the past six months to drive almost anyone cuckoo. The “green” candidates alone have filled my mailbox with enough paper campaign flyers to reforest Utah.

Conceptual diagram illustrating the brain of the author at this moment in time. Keep your fashion comments to yourself. Illustration by the author and his handy cell…

It’s that time again! Come on over to the Nudge Wink Report and find out what exactly Professor Longhair said in that song. To keep it interesting, I’ve defaced a classic painting and added extra stainless to a classic Caddy.

If you’re like me, you sing in the car. If you’re also like me, you suck at knowing the actual lyrics to most of the songs you croon along with. Take for example the song I’ve linked by Professor Longhair. For the most part, the lyrics are entirely decipherable – once you get past the first thirty seconds. From zero to thirty is another story. I’ve listened to that first half minute over and over to try to figure out what exactly the Professor is saying.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the great Professor Longhair, you can thank me later. His album “House Party New Orleans Style” will remain in my shuffle at all times. I’ve formally requested that his version of “Tipitina” be played at my funeral, and people damn well better dance when it does – Don’t yall make me get up outta dis here pine…